


Jegus fucking Christmas

by ang3lba3



Series: A Disease Called Friendship [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Trans Karkat Vantas, mostly exposition tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terezi's face does something ominous, a cliffhanger is introduced, and there is not as much pale loving as I'd thought there'd be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jegus fucking Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't take this as an indication of how fast I'll update, I've no fucking idea how fast I'll go. 
> 
> (Please excuse how horrible everyone probably is.)

Your name is Karkat Vantas, you are 15 years old, and you remember everything.

  


You never haven’t, to be honest.

  


Maybe this is just a mental mutation to match the physical one you had on Alterna, Sgrub determined to make you a freak. Not that it didn’t already give you a physical fuck up here too.

  


There’s no way to cover this one up though. You wonder if this is paradox space’s idea of irony, of humor. To make you a mistake of genetics no matter what universe or body you live in.

  


(Sometimes you’re glad. If you were as normal as the rest of your fucking friends, you wouldn’t feel like you. Of course, you use ‘normal’ in the loosest available sense of the word.)

  


If that was the only way that you were a freak, you might have been okay with it. What would you do if people (although in this case mostly your peers) didn’t bully you? Become well adjusted?

  


But no, that certainly was never a concern, you had to be reborn as a goddamn human female.

  


You didn’t put up with that shit from the moment you could punch and scream when forced into something pink, and your Dad didn’t seem too surprised you didn’t. There was never a question of acceptance of who you were. He’s a good dad, as good as you could ever ask for him to be after you got him killed, anyways.

  


Oh, yeah. Your lusus came back as a human father.

  


(Fucking weird.)

  


Your phone dings, and you dig it out of your pocket. The room has gone dark around you as you laid on your bed and thought, and you scowl as the light from the screen blinds you and turns the words on it to a blur. Reaching over, you switch on your bedside lamp and wince as your eyes adjust.

  


It’s Terezi, because of course it is.

  


  


You consider ignoring her, just because you kind of want to see Sollux try and drag you out of your house. He’s even skinnier than he was as a troll, and a thousand times wimpier.

  


He’d still be successful, of course, because you’re not about to kick his ass for trying to make you be social, but that’s not the point.

  


You just want to feel normal.

  


(It’s not that you don’t love your friends, because you do. You love them so goddamn much it feels like you’ll explode with pity whenever you’re near them. They’re identical, almost, to their Sgrub selves. So close it makes you wonder if they know too. You don’t say anything, because they’re the kind of worried fuckers who would put you in therapy if you did tell them and they didn’t.)  
  


You slip the phone back into your pocket and ignore the ding that you know is just her gloating in her easy victory. Getting wrapped up yelling at her for being a smug asshole for the next fifteen minutes is not your idea of an ideal time.

  


(Anymore, at least. You grew out of that when you had to be a preverbal human infant with the memories of an 8 sweeps old troll. You can’t say for sure, as you’ve never studied the animals of Earth or Alternia in depth, but you believe in your heart that humans have the stupidest most useless babies.)

  


You stretch when you get out of the bed, slipping off your t-shirt and grimacing at the breasts that flop uselessly on your chest. They’re tiny, just like the rest of you, but having rumblespheres has always been discomforting, no matter how small they are. At least you bind completely flat.

  


It’s not that you mind having a nook, it’s nothing new and you’d kind of miss the lack if it was gone. You miss your bulge with a deep ache where the opening slit should be, but having a vagina is alright with you.

  


What’s not alright is how that seems to mean everyone treats you as a girl.

  


So here you are, waiting to get testosterone so people can stop treating you as a 12 year old female at first glance. You’re not looking forward to even more hair coming out of your body, but you can get that waxed off. The jawline and deepened voice sounds fan-fucking-tastic though.

  


(Fucking humans. It’s not a surprise that they came from monkeys, they’re fucking covered in vestigial fur. You do not appreciate it. Hair should be on your head, not your body. Most of your friends agree, but are too weak to wax or too lazy to shave everywhere.)

  


You slip into a binder, by which you mean struggle and grunt for several difficult moments. The burn in your muscles from pulling things in a way you rarely have to is familiar and soothing to you, and breathing is that little bit of a struggle that you’ve come to find reassuring. Over it you slip on your sweater, thick and baggy, just how you like it. Kanaya made it for you, and without you requesting it sewed on a light gray cancer sign. She winked at you when she handed it over, but-

  


You don’t talk about it.

  


(You’re not sure if you could.)

  


When you’re done dressing you jump out your window rather than deal with facing your lusus. He’s probably is itching to spar, but you just don’t have time for it right now. That’s another thing that carried over. Your lusu- Dad is always itching to fight with you, physically fight, just like all the others’ parents are.

  


(It doesn’t matter how long you live on Earth. It’s been too goddamned long already and you still have trouble getting the right words for things in your head or even out loud when you’re angry.)

  


You wonder briefly if it’s the same for the humans, before brushing that sore spot aside to be dealt with another day. To be honest, you don’t know where the humans are. You’ve tried to find them, but it’s hard. They’re not on Facebook - to be fair neither are you - and Pesterchum and Trollian don’t even exist in this world.

  


Anyways.

  


You assume that you’re meeting at the usual place and you’re not wrong - when the short walk to Jet’s Pizza is over you push open the door to be greeted by the majority of the square tables in the dining area pushed together to make a giant table. The entire gang is there, which means something is up.

  


You wave at Sollux, who flips you off without even looking up from his phone to see you waved at him, which makes you scowl and flip him off back. He smirks like he knows that he won this one.

  


You regret him ever being your best friend.

  


(Sometimes you wonder if you feel that strange human emotion called love towards him. You think maybe. It’s some weird fucking quadrant vacillation from what you can figure out from the human romances, pale and black and flushed and ashen in one appallingly deviant mix titled Culture Shock.)

  


Gamzee tilts his head back and blinks slowly at you, that blazed out smile on his face that makes you want to settle his head in your lap and pet his hair. You’re in public, though, so you probably won’t do that. You settle for sitting in the seat to his left and greeting him with a fond pap.

  


(That’s weird by human standards, but your friends have got some troll left over in them from what you can tell, and they’re also numbed to the strange friendship you have with Gamzee.)

  


He captures your hand in response and twines your fingers together. You smile in that way that only he can make you do, and you’re both lost in a little bit of pale public displays of affection for a moment there before Sollux clears his throat in that obnoxious way he has.

  


“Tho Terethi, why are we here?” he asks, voice lisping all over the fucking place.

  


“I have some new friends I wanted you to meet.” Terezi grins sharply in that way that you have come to disapprove of strongly, nay, flat out fucking hate.

  


(Getting over her was probably one of the smarter things you’ve ever done.)

  


(You pointedly don’t think about who you got over her for, like that would help.)

  


Everyone you care about (and a few you almost don’t) are seated here, but when you glance around there are four empty chairs, and your bloodpusher does something dramatic in your chest as your mouth falls open.

  


See, here’s the thing:

  


Terezi doesn’t make new friends. She makes acquaintances. She makes fuckbuddies. But never once has she ever bothered bonding to the point of that strange troll disease called friendship with anyone but the Sgrub players.

  


The bell that rings when you open the door tinkles behind you and you’re up and spinning around in your chair, and your hand gets pulled out of Gamzee’s, which he protests with a mild huff, but he’s turning around to look too and-

  
Jegus fucking Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr at [this gorgeous blog ;)](ang3lba3.tumblr.com)


End file.
